


The Christmas Cookie Competition

by alexscarlet



Series: Iwaoi Christmas Week [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Baking, Bokurokawa and their long suffering bfs, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Cute, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, I forgot how much I love writing iwaoi uwu, Iwaoi Christmas Week, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Merry Christmas, Oikawa is pretty pretty, Only mild but there bc praise kink is just!! amen, Praise Kink, The troublesome threesome aka Bokurokawa, They give me so much life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexscarlet/pseuds/alexscarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 4 - Christmas Baking // <strike>Ugly Christmas Sweaters</strike></p><p>in which BoKuroKawa's boyfriends suffer and Oikawa is good at baking, as long as Iwaizumi doesn't distract him too much ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Christmas Cookie Competition

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot how much I love writing my baby volleyball nerds. Iwaoi and the troublesome trio give me life. Dedicated to Sara and all the lovely iwaoi shippers~
> 
> Merry Christmas everyone!

**The Christmas Cookie Competition**

Iwaizumi has barely checked his phone -

 

**_4:42 From_ ** _: Akaashi_

_Prepare yourself_

\- before there’s the jangle of the keys against the lock and the door is thrown open.

 

“Iwa-chan!” Iwaizumi attempts to merge with the couch, but Oikawa knows his tricks by now. It’s times like these when Iwaizumi can’t help but wonder if they’ve known each other too long.

 

After slipping his heeled brown boots off and chucking his trenchcoat in the general vicinity of the coat hooks, Oikawa slides across the wooden floor of the living room in his reindeer socks and flops down on top of him. Iwaizumi lets out a deep grunt of pain that is, as usual, ignored. Oikawa’s calloused palms are cold as he smushes them into Iwaizumi’s cheeks and leans in close enough that their noses almost touch. Obnoxiously he giggles. “Iwa~” He sings, and his eyes are doing that glinting thing that makes a kind of defeated dread curl in Iwaizumi’s stomach. “We’re having a com-pe-tition!”

 

(Iwaizumi’s eyes are _not_ inexplicably drawn to Oikawa’s bright pink lips as he says that. He’s just noting Oikawa’s lipstick. That’s all. Nothing more to see here. His own lips tingle a bit. )

 

“We?”

 

Oikawa sits up again, so his minty breath is no longer overwhelming Iwaizumi’s nose, and nods so enthusiastically his wavy hair bounces. The shift in weight makes his bony bum dig into the muscles of Iwaizumi’s thighs but he doesn’t bother to groan out loud. If anything, that would just encourage the devil. 

 

“Yup!” Oikawa pops the ‘p’. “Me and Bokuto and Kuroo.”

 

That would explain Akaashi’s text. He’s sure if he checked now he’d find another similarly wary text from Tsukishima. Their teams tease them about the idea of the trio having a group chat just to compare notes on their hyperactive boyfriends; little do they know it’s already a reality.

 

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes and Oikawa’s grin widens in response. “What kind of competition?”

 

“Baking!”

 

“Baking?” Iwaizumi repeats. He hopes he’s heard wrong.

 

(He knows he hasn’t.)

 

“That’s right! Baking!” Iwaizumi grabs and pillow and presses it over his face, moaning in apprehension. “Don’t be like that. I was probably gonna bake some Christmas cookies _anyway_ so it’s just killing two birds with one stone.” Oikawa holds up two long, elegant fingers and counts them off. “Bake holiday treats and prove I’m the best.”

 

Iwaizumi throws the pillow at his stupid, attractive face.

 

(When he checks his phone, after Oikawa finally finishes squashing him and goes to take a shower, Iwaizumi is betrayed.

 

**_5:17 From:_ ** _Akaashi_

_Just to let you guys know, I’m probably gonna end up baking Bokuto’s, so we’re obviously going to win_

**_5:19 From:_ ** _Tsukishima_

_Dream on_

**_5:19 From:_ ** _Akaashi_

_Is that a challenge?_

**_5:20 From:_ ** _Tsukishima_

_If you wanna take it that way._

Iwaizumi can’t believe he actually expected these people to have his back. He should’ve known better.)

 

\---

 

It’s a common misconception, one of those little assumptions that Oikawa simultaneously indulges and bitterly dislikes; that he can’t cook. That’s not to say he’s the best - definitely not - but Iwaizumi isn’t the sole chef in the apartment and God knows there are dishes Oikawa’s mum taught him that Iwaizumi could never attempt.

 

Iwaizumi sits on a kitchen chair, sipping at a banana smoothie, admiring Oikawa’s pert little arse in his tight booty shorts, and muses. He supposes Oikawa’s aptitude in cooking stems from the fact that Oikawa’s mum had to work and therefore often didn’t make it home in time for dinner. Biting on the straw, Iwaizumi scrunches up his nose in remembrance that she didn’t really make Oikawa’s lunch either; he can clearly recall himself, tiny and indignant at how tired Oikawa would look after staying up late every night waiting for his mum to come home to say goodnight and waking up early to make lunch for himself. Of course as time went on, Iwaizumi realised Oikawa was lucky.

 

She might not have been around much during the week, but she was always home for weekends and she worked so hard in order to pay for Oikawa’s schooling and extra curricular activities, and she loved him. Still loves him.

 

Oikawa hits him on the nose with a wooden spoon.

 

“Don’t think so hard, you might hurt yourself.” He smirks. It’s a line stolen from Iwaizumi himself.

 

With a roll of his eyes Iwaizumi offers Oikawa the last sips of his smoothie - he’d noticed Oikawa eying it - and says, “Your mum.”

 

Licking banana milkshake from his lips, Oikawa lights up. “She phoned last week. She followed my…well, she followed _your_ advice and got that deal closed so she can finally have a little break.” Judging by the way his sharp white teeth gnaw on his lower lip, though, Oikawa is still a bit worried about her overworking and collapsing again. It had been just the once but…Iwaizumi shudders just remembering how Oikawa had lost it.

 

“I’m glad.” Iwaizumi grunts now. “Did you preheat the oven?”

 

“Yes!” Oikawa says indignantly, even as he shuffles backwards and quickly turns the oven on. Iwaizumi stares down at the creamy yellow bubbles in the bottom of his glass to hide his smile. “Hey babe?”

 

It’s that tone. Iwaizumi heaves himself to his feet.

 

“What am I buying?” He sighs, stumping over to the front door; bending down to pull his socks up more securely and put his trainers on. When he stands again, he’s surprised by the feeling of soft, familiar lips on his cheek. He hadn’t heard Oikawa follow him.

 

“Bicarbonate of soda.” Iwaizumi stares at the pretty, satisfied flush on Oikawa’s face then looks away quickly before that strange mix of pride and fondness in Oikawa’s dark eyes makes himblush. God forbid. Slipping his hands into his pockets, Iwaizumi realises he hasn’t got money and Oikawa laughs and waves the notes under his nose. He’s wearing turquoise nail polish again. Iwaizumi knows it’s his favourite colour.

 

(Iwaizumi also knows that it took Oikawa years to accept the fact that he likes feeling pretty, likes the calming process of painting his nails and how elegant and cute the beautiful colours make him feel. Another year of dating Iwaizumi to feel confident enough to wear nail polish in front of him and another six months before he wore it out clubbing with their friends. A fierce protective pride burns bright and red hot in Iwaizumi’s chest, the memory of Oikawa’s vaguely watery grin when Akaashi complimented the black nail paint that night.)

 

He snatches the notes and pecks Oikawa’s cheek before he grumbles his way out of the door.

 

He doesn’t hear it shut until the lift arrives and the thought of Oikawa’s melty chocolate eyes watching him with that stupid, grossly fond look in them makes Iwaizumi’s face flare bright pink.

 

\---

 

“There!” Oikawa closes the oven door, stands up and jabs at the timer, brushing his hands off.

 

“Now you just gotta burn them.” Iwaizumi drawls from where he’s flopped on the sofa again, when Oikawa skips happily out of the kitchen. He grins at the little affronted squeak Oikawa makes. “What you wanna do while we wait?”

 

He doesn’t say it suggestively, but Oikawa’s face turns pink nevertheless. Iwaizumi smirks and beckons him closer, scooching up the sofa and spreading his legs a little so Oikawa can wriggle between them and snuggle his face into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck. His face is warm from the open oven and his hands are soft and needy as he slips them around Iwaizumi’s neck, fingers scratching at the short spikey hair at his nape. Then he raises himself up on his arms and curls over Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi’s calloused hands reaching up to mould themselves along the curves of Oikawa’s jaw, thumbs rubbing into those beautifully rosy cheeks.

 

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, unable to stop himself, such is the strength of emotion crashing around him, overwhelming him, hot and trembly within his ribcage, dancing in his stomach and tingling through his fingertips. Oikawa shines a little brighter and Iwaizumi gently pulls him closer, closer. Their noses bump and Oikawa laughs quietly, just for them, his breath tickling sweet across Iwaizumi’s face. “Did you lick the bowl?”

 

Oikawa giggles guiltily. “I asked if you wanted some but you were dozing off. Didn’t wanna wake you, Iwa-chan.” Before Iwaizumi can complain some more - Oikawa _knows_ he has an embarrassing weakness for cookie dough - Oikawa is pressing their lips together. When Oikawa’s tongue licks along the seam of his cracked lips, Iwaizumi parts them and lets Oikawa in.

 

Oikawa tastes like cookies and chocolate, like his strawberry lip-gloss and that heady, light, blinding scent that’s just him. For a brief second, Iwaizumi wonders what Oikawa can taste in his mouth, on his skin; then Oikawa’s hot tongue is wet against his own and Iwaizumi wraps his arms tightly around Oikawa’s narrow waist but otherwise just gives and gives, allows Oikawa to take control.

 

Within panted inhales, Oikawa whimpers, “You’re so good to me, so good to me.”

 

Iwaizumi arches up to chase Oikawa’s lips, to draw soft curses and gentle praises from them, the feeling of being appreciated, the bone-deep usefulness warming him from the inside out.

 

“Love you.” He whispers back in the exhale of a shaky breath and Oikawa groans and his fingers dig into Iwaizumi’s jaw and tilts his head to lick deeper into his mouth, to taste the truth of those words in the sweet submission and supportive sensitivity. “Hold up, hold up.” Iwaizumi pants. When Oikawa doesn’t stop straight away, he bends his knee and kicks him with his heel. “Your timer just went off, Assikawa. Go and save your stupid cookies.”

 

“Oops.” Oikawa grins, his eyes disappearing. Iwaizumi misses his heavy warmth when he hops up and glides into the kitchen but he won’t admit anything.

 

Instead, he takes in a deep breath of chocolatey air, thick with the scent of chocolate and cinnamon cookies. And Christmas. He lets his head sink into the sofa cushions and laces his hands together over his interested stomach and soon enough Oikawa’s back, pulling Iwaizumi up to sit beside him, tucking himself under Iwaizumi’s arm and proudly offering him a plate with four piping hot cookies, complete with shining, melted chocolate.

 

“Only four?” Iwaizumi teases, elbowing Oikawa lightly. “Did you burn the others?”

 

“No.” Oikawa pouts. “They’re on the cooling tray. I thought you might like to try them.”

 

Iwaizumi blows down Oikawa’s ear so the other flaps him away before picking up a cookie and stuffing it in Iwaizumi’s mouth.

 

“Shittykawa! They’re fucking hot!”

 

Oikawa just holds his sides and cackles at Iwaizumi’s face and the way he’s spluttering freshly baked cookie everywhere. He stops when a blob of saliva-soppy cookie splots onto his bare thigh.

 

“Ha.” Iwaizumi grunts through his mouthful. “Sherves ‘ou righ’!”

 

“Iwa-cha~n, you’re so gross!” Then, “Are they good?” Iwaizumi just gives Oikawa his usual look, the one that says _why am I in love with such a stupid dork._

\---

They end up eating the entire batch and Oikawa burns the next one when Iwaizumi’s hands and lips distract him too much.

 

(At least they don’t burn the building down, although Bokuto _is_ annoying smug for the rest of the Christmas season and Akaashi is basically _insufferable_. When Oikawa and Kuroo wiggle their eyebrows suggestively to explain the sorry state of their entries, Iwaizumi and Tsukishima share long-suffering glances.

 

It’s a good Christmas.

 

Perhaps even, Iwaizumi thinks, as he watches Oikawa bickering with Akaashi over who won the cracker contents and Oikawa’s dark red sparkly shirt slips to reveal the hickeys bruising his neck and Kuroo regales them all with a ridiculous story whilst Bokuto contributes sound effects, and Kenma rolls his eyes at them all fondly, and his phone pings with messages from friends and family periodically and Hanamaki pushes the remainder of the Indian takeout closer...

 

Perhaps even the _best_ Christmas.)

                                                         

**Author's Note:**

> Hope your Christmas is pretty damn good. Maybe even the best. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! 
> 
> Please leave kudos and/or a comment ^^


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